


Trailblazer

by sparrow445



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:27:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26337181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrow445/pseuds/sparrow445
Summary: An incredibly soft and simple moment between a father and his daughter.Edward tucks Renesmee into bed after he finds her up late reading.
Relationships: Carlisle Cullen & Edward Cullen, Edward Cullen & Renesmee Cullen
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	Trailblazer

“We are born to wander through a chaos field. And yet we do not become hopelessly lost, because each walker who comes before us leaves behind a trace for us to follow—" 

The soft knock on my door drags me out of my book and back to reality. 

“Ness?” My father inquires from just outside my door. 

I’m lying on my stomach, my head at the foot of my bed and my feet up by my pillows. My deep purple shag blanket is thrown over the back of my legs. I wear an incredibly ratty Dartmouth College sweatshirt commemorating the Class of 1980 that I stole from my dad’s closet upon our arrival in Alaska. He doesn't mind. It’s just a fashion statement for him, a memory of his time spent in the northeast over fifty years ago now. It’s survival for me. I’m the only one who gets cold in this house. 

The only source of light in my room comes from the small lamp on my nightstand, and it casts a soft yellow glow across my room. I turn over my shoulder to check the digital clock situated next to the lamp. 

1:30 in the morning. Whoops. 

“Come in,” I say quietly in response to the knock. 

I don’t have to worry about waking anyone—I am the only one in the family who ever has to sleep—but I never want to disturb the ethereal feeling of the suspension that the pitch black and rhythmic, repetitive melody of the crickets and bullfrogs creates in the middle of the night. 

Ever conscious of my love for these wee hours of the morning, my father slowly opens my bedroom door and walks towards my bed. His golden eyes swim with love and mild amusement at having caught me up reading again. 

He sits on the end of my bed so that he’s looking at down at me. “You’re still awake.” 

“Yeah.” Sleepily I draw out this word as I close my book. 

He chuckles. 

I fold my arms under my head and stare up at him while he smiles gently down at me. 

I listen to my Aunt Rosalie humming to herself while working down in the garage; Uncle Jasper and Carlisle flipping through the pages of their books—Jasper’s is probably something about the Civil War history and Carlisle’s about the “magic of modern medicine” as he likes to put it; Esme is experimenting with some of the new kitchen utensils we got her for her birthday. 

The entire Cullen family—all nine of us—spent a year down in Brazil secluded off on Isle Esme, and I took a liking to Brazilian food. Esme’s determined to cook for me now, and finally “get some use out of my beautiful kitchens!” 

The only two members of the family I can’t hear are my mom and my Aunt Alice. They went out hunting tonight. 

I give him my best ‘Daddy’s Girl’ smile, as my mom likes to joke, and I note, “No one else is asleep.” 

“True.” He reaches out with his hand to stroke my hair. “But no one else is as special as you.” 

I let out a breathy snort. “Thanks Dad.” It comes out sarcastically, causing him to chuckle. 

He knows he’s been using that line since I was old enough to ask questions about who I am. Why am I different from him and Mommy? Why can’t I glow and have golden eyes like him? How come I’m so much faster than everyone else at school? 

_Because no one else is as special as you._

But that doesn’t mean he’ll ever stop using that line. And, if I’m being honest, I don’t ever really want him to stop. 

He picks up the book I was just reading. “ _On Trails_ , by Robert Moor.” He flips it over to the blurb on the back. “You know,” he says after reading a moment, “I don’t think I’ve ever actually read this book.” 

“Really?” I will never get tired of the unbridled pride and joy that fills me when I find something my dad has not read yet in his more than century-long existence. 

“Really.” He opens to the first page and begins to explore the prose. 

My mind wanders off to the unforgiving and yet seemingly cathartic Appalachian Trail Moor writes about in his book. “It’s mostly about philosophy. The author, Moor, hiked the entire Appalachian trail and kept a diary about it, but since he was by himself for four months, he starts getting really existential about what it means to exist. What it means to be a trailblazer. The first and all that.” 

The ending of my explanation peaks my dad’s interest. “And?”

“And?” I yawn and look up at him. 

My dad knows how often I think about how “special” I am, to use his word, “trailblazer”, to use Moor’s word. I’m one of the first half-human-half-vampire (dad prefers the word immortal but I just call ‘em like I see ‘em). Sure, I’m similar to my family in a lot of ways, and similar to humans in a lot of ways. But I don’t really belong in either group. I’m definitely too dangerous to be fully around humans; I do drink blood after all. But, I’m also slightly too fragile to be around vampires except my family and their friends. I’ve got a beating heart and blood coursing through my veins. So, I always feel stuck in limbo. 

My dad prompts me again. “What does he have to say about existence, and trailblazers, and ‘firsts and all that’?” 

“Well,” I begin. “The biggest thing is that, what we call trailblazers aren’t really trailblazers. You know? Like, we say a trailblazer is someone who is the first to forge into unknown territory. But like anyone can walk across a piece of grass that has never been walked on before. It’s the act of people deciding to follow that first person across the same piece of grass that creates a trail. Trailblazers don’t ever work—”

I stop for a yawn, making my dad smile again.

“—alone.” I finish. 

“Wow,” he says. I can’t tell if its in reaction to my summary of Moor’s book or the absolute monstrous size of my yawn. “I’m definitely going to give this read.” 

I chuckle. “Yeah.” I think both things are pretty noteworthy. 

He stands up and walks slowly to place the book on my nightstand. 

“Your mom will kill me if she finds out that you didn’t take at least four human hours to sleep tonight. Come on.” He gently pats the pillow. 

“Ugh.” I fake a groan, and we both laugh. 

I turn myself around so my head’s up by my pillows and crawl under my covers. 

He pulls the comforter tight up to my chin before sitting on the edge of my bed. To any outsider, this would probably be the strangest sight they have ever seen: one seemingly teenage boy tucking in another seemingly teenage girl. 

I stare up at him, and pull my right hand out from under the covers. I reach up with it to touch his face. With this simple touch, I express to him my frustration at my need for sleep, and yet, my absolute love of these quiet moments in the middle of the night with him. 

He closes his eyes and smiles as he leans into my hand, wanting to savor the love of his child. 

He lets out a contented sigh, and I pull my hand back under the covers. He switches the light off, and I’m left staring into the dark. 

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Ness.” 

“Is it strange to feel like I’m missing parts of eternity?” I take a deep breath, and am comforted by his solid presence next to me. “Like, I have an infinite number of days, but I have to spend just as many nights sleeping. I’m definitely missing time with you and Mom. And Rose and Carlisle and everyone.” 

“No,” he assures me. I feel his hand come up to stroke my hair again. “You’re not missing anything. I promise.” 

Listening to Esme bang a pot against the stovetop, I don’t believe him. 

“Think of it this way,” he begins. “If you have an infinite number of days to be awake you have the same amount of time to be asleep. And since we all have the same amount of infinity, then you have just as many waking hours as the rest of us.” 

Nonsense. 

“Hmm?” 

He knows I think it’s nonsense. But also thinks he’s right. 

And, “I guess you’re not wrong.” I say to him. “But what about right now. When you’re going to get to be awake and I can’t be? I won’t get to hear what you’re going to play on the piano right now. The creating you’re going to do right now. Aren’t I missing that?” 

“No. Because I won’t create without you if you don’t want me to.”

“Really?” 

“Really.” He chuckles to himself, and then continues. “I won’t go anywhere if you don’t want me to. I’ll sit right here with you until you wake up.” 

“Keeping me safe?”

“Oh, most certainly.” I don’t have to be a mind-reader to know that he’s smiling at me through the dark. “But waiting for you. I have eternity too. And if I have to spend a few hours everyday sitting here with you, waiting, while you—the special…trailblazer…you are—while you sleep, then I will. You won’t miss anything. I promise.” 

My breath slows as I succumb to sleep. 

I feel my father lean over me and place a kiss to the top of my head. “Good night, Ness.” 

“Mmhmm” is all I can manage before I’m off to sleep, secure in the knowledge that Daddy will wait for me. 

\-------------------------------------

Sitting here, listening to the sounds of my daughter’s soft snores and her occasional sleep-induced mumble about “trails”, I couldn’t be happier. 

And then I hear them: Carlisle's thoughts…

_She’s lucky to have you, Edward._

Yes. 

I whisper, "And I you." 

I know he can hear me despite the extremely low volume of my voice. And I know he is sitting in his office now, looking over the top of his book smiling off into the distance thinking about when it was just the two of us, and I asked him great existential questions like Renesmee had asked me just now. 

After Carlisle turned me--oh so many years ago now--I never thought I would have the peace and happiness that comes from knowing a child loves you unconditionally, and turns to you believing that you have the answer to the universe's deepest and most difficult questions. And I wish I did have those answers for her. I desperately wish I had those answers. But as she snuggles closer to me, her arms subconsciously wrapping themselves around my arm like a teddy bear, I know it's alright that I don't have those answers. That all she needs from me right now is to sit with her until she wakes up again tomorrow. 

I readjust her so that I’m sitting more comfortably on the bed and so that she won’t have a kink in her neck tomorrow morning. I pull her close, careful to stay on the outside of the covers, as I was with her mother all those years ago.

I stare out into the lateness of the night and listen to the crickets and bullfrogs that Ness loves so much. I start to hum a melody that I've been working on for this perfect little angel in my arms. Her fist thumps lightly on my chest, and I look down. Without opening her eyes she mumbles, "You promised no composing without me, Daddy." "Yes I did." I place a kiss on the top of her forhead, and sigh contentedly. I won't make a sound until she wakes up and asks me to. Yes, she’s lucky to have me. But I am even luckier to have her as my daughter.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of the characters from Stephanie Meyer's _Twilight Saga_. 
> 
> Additionally, the opening quote in this story -- "We are born to wander through a chaos field. And yet we do not become hopelessly lost, because each walker who comes before us leaves behind a trace for us to follow." -- is from the incredible book, _On Trails_ by Robert Moor. I don't own that book or that quote either.


End file.
